The Assault
The towers of the ‘Imperial’ city sat squat
and quiet.
Those stones did not cry out – no way!
Imperial flags,
corpuscle-red and eye-socket black,
cracked like
whips in the breeze, but did not wave a greeting
– as if!
We had scouted the walls and wastes about,
our old
sargeant grumbling and swearing and staring.
The ballistae
and trebuchets, (makers of larger death),
quivered with
the battle lust, breathing in the sweat, fear
and whining
of Men, and then breathing out fire and
hell and
silent wall-smashing full stops. We
stormed the
battlements toward last light, the sun in
our enemies
eyes and our arrows and burning pitch.
I ran
and ran and ran, no leather bladder in
my hand.
No! Iron, weighty, pointed, whisker-
splicing, smooth.
A shout of holy defiance on my lips,
letting go
of decorum I embraced and toasted Life
and Death.
Cambo/Emu 2003 – 2021
© The Grumpy Old Dilettante, 2021